


Gwendolyn

by days_of_storm



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Holmes Brothers, Holmes Family, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this can be read as a rough sequel to St. Valentine's Day, or as a standalone - though it's equally silly.</p><p>It's a late birthday present for Janimoon, who asked me to write John and Mycroft bonding about two years ago XD So yeah, better late than never :D</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gwendolyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janimoon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Janimoon).



> this can be read as a rough sequel to St. Valentine's Day, or as a standalone - though it's equally silly.
> 
> It's a late birthday present for Janimoon, who asked me to write John and Mycroft bonding about two years ago XD So yeah, better late than never :D

“Sherlock, are you home?” John knew the answer before he stepped into the flat. The door knocker had sat suspiciously straight and an equally suspicious car was parked a few paces away from their door.

“He’s out, I’m afraid,” Mycroft greeted him with something resembling a smile. “I took the liberty of letting myself in.”

“Right,” John made a face and carried his shopping into the kitchen. “Tea?”

Mycroft didn’t answer straight away, so John turned around to see if anything was the matter. “Maybe later,” Mycroft said, clearing his throat.

“You’re nervous.” John noticed by the small twitch in Mycroft’s chin that he wasn’t happy with his talent to read him and pulled out two mugs anyway.

“Where is Sherlock?”

“Busy,” Mycroft looked at the carpet, lines deepening on his forehead.

“And you are here … why?” John wondered whether Mycroft would be terribly offended if he called him out on his over the top - behaviour. Probably deeply hurt, he concluded, and decided to treat him like he treated Sherlock when he was trying to be overly dramatic, with patience and passive aggression.

“I have a problem.”

“Which I can help you with.” John sat down on the arm of his chair so he could look down on Mycroft.

“Possibly.” Mycroft poked at the carpet with the end of his umbrella. He seemed truly nervous.

“What did he do?”

Mycroft looked up at John with true astonishment.

“It’s not that far of a leap,” John explained. “You barely blink if there’s a war approaching, but when it’s about Sherlock, well …”

“It’s our mother’s birthday.” Mycroft finally said, sounding almost desperate; though John knew he was still pretending – mostly.

“I don’t see how I could help with that.” He got up and took his time getting the tea ready before he returned, putting Mycroft’s mug down on the coffee table just out of his comfortable reach.

“All he needs to do is show up, have dinner, talk to Mother and all will be well." 

“I have met your mother and I know that Sherlock actually wouldn’t mind so much if it was just that.”

“Well,” Mycroft sighed deeply, “I will be there, and so will be our aunt, Gwendolyn.”

“Your aunt? The one nobody has ever mentioned to me before?”

Mycroft smiled sweetly. “While you do belong to the family, at least in some ways, you are mistaken if you think you know us.”

John huffed out a laugh. “Well, if she’s anything like the rest of you, then I am fairly sure I know what kind of person Gwendolyn is.”

Mycroft leaned over to grab the mug and sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I doubt it,” he then said and looked at John with a look too familiar to be comfortable for him.

“Please help me.”

John couldn’t believe that Mycroft was capable of the same kind of begging that Sherlock used on him to get him to do dangerous and stupid things. “You two will be the death of me.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, what do I have to do?”

“Convince him to come.”

“How?”

“Come along with him.”

John stared at him for a long while. He imagined himself trying desperately to not roll his eyes at the antics between the Holmes brothers, their mother talking about embarrassing moments of their childhoods and their father looking on, smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world. Somehow, his mental image must have been reflected in his expression, because Mycroft sighed deeply and looked more helpless than John had ever seen him before.

“Why is Gwendolyn a problem?” John asked, knowing that somewhere in this he could possibly force Mycroft to promise him to never kidnap him again.

“She flirts with him.”

“Oh,” John suddenly was one hundred percent on board. He tried to look scandalised, hoping his real feelings about this issue didn’t show.

“It’s disturbing to a degree that even I admit is not comfortable for any of us.”

“And if she knew I was with him she might not flirt with him anymore? Is she really your aunt?”

“Would she behave in that way if she were,” Mycroft asked back, the lines in his forehead growing even deeper. “Please, John.”

“So I convince him to go by telling him I’ll come with him and snog him whenever Aunt Gwendolyn approaches?”

“In not so many words, yes.”

“And it would not only mean that Sherlock shows up for the birthday party, but also spear you the discomfort of having to watch your little brother being flirted at by an elderly lady? Have you thought about the possibility that she might start paying attention to other … men in the room?”

Mycroft grew pale and then slightly green. “Dear God.”

John couldn’t believe that Mycroft hadn’t thought of that possibility. Neither of the Holmes brothers seemed particularly adept at understanding how flirting worked.

“Take Anthea, then,” he proposed, hoping that Mycroft would recover quickly from the undoubtedly terrifying images his mind had conjured up for him. “Or ask your mother not to invite Gwendolyn.”

“Oh, she will come, whether Mother invites her or not.”

John sighed. “So I convince him to come, and come along to make sure that Sherlock isn’t approached inappropriately and you bring Anthea and all will be well.”

“How much?”

“Hmm?”

“If I am not completely mistaken there is a price tag attached to your willingness to help.”

John was severely tempted, but then decided that it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to be owed one by the most powerful man in Britain. “I’ll be entertained, at least,” he said, finishing his tea and getting up. “I cannot promise anything, but I will do my best.”

Mycroft got up, looking much better than he had just minutes ago. “I underestimated you,” he said, drawing himself up to his usual posture, towering over John. “I don’t know whether I should be relieved or up your surveillance status.”

John grinned. “You know which one would work out in your favour.”

“I’m afraid I do. Good bye, John. And thank you.”

***

“What did he want?” Sherlock was barely through the door and John could tell that he was in a mood.

John chuckled and put his book down. “Hello to you, too.”

Sherlock’s look spoke volumes about how much he did not care for John’s gentle chiding.

“Something happen?” John ignored Sherlock’s disgruntled behaviour, secretly pleased that for once he was the one calling the shots.

“Mycroft happened. Did he try to blackmail you to talk me into attending Mother’s birthday party?”

John made a face and Sherlock walked straight to the couch, dropped down and pressed his face against John’s shoulder. “I’ll clean the fridge,” he mumbled against John’s shirt and John laughed silently.

“I promised I’d do my best.”

“Traitor!”

John grinned and wrapped one arm around Sherlock, pulling him closer.

“It could be fun!”

“It really couldn’t!” Sherlock nuzzled John’s neck and returned to sulking. “What did he offer you?”

“Nothing.”

Sherlock looked blankly back at him. “I don’t understand.”

“He came and asked me nicely.”

“It’s Mycroft you are talking about!”

“Yes, and he was all kinds of desperate. I actually felt sorry for him.”

“John!”

“You’re going to your mum’s birthday party. You can’t possibly not go. She’s your mother and she’ll love to see you and …”

“You don’t understand!” Sherlock whined and John wondered just how terrifying this preudo-aunt of theirs could be.

“Gwendolyn?”

“You do understand.”

“Mycroft asked me to join you.”

Sherlock sat up straight, confusion clouding his face. “You’re lying.”

John simply shook his head and maintained eye contact.

“Mycroft suggested that you come with me, as … my John?”

John bit his lip and nodded. “More as your partner, in general, mind you.”

“That’s quite … sensible.”

“And you think Mycroft couldn’t come up with some good ideas every now and then?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Well, he seemed truly desperate.”

“Oh god.” Sherlock looked shaken.

“What now?”

“Does that mean I have to thank him?”

“You could try to be nice on the occasion, which would be quite a relief for everyone involved” John suggested, feeling stupidly excited at having one up on both Holmes brothers.

***

On the morning of the party, John found a nice suit delivered to him in the living room. Sherlock scowled, but he cheered up visible once John had tried the suit on.

Sherlock made sure that John had to put it on a second time before they got ready to leave and John was sure that Gwendolyn wouldn’t try to flirt with Sherlock if he had a quite visible love bite on his wrist.

Still, Sherlock was nervous when they got out of the cab, and to his annoyance Mycroft stepped out of a car just before they rang the doorbell. Mycroft had indeed brought Anthea, who looked gorgeous and put together and not in the least nervous. John grinned at her and gave a curt nod to Mycroft.

Then the door opened and flowers were handed over and cheeks were kissed and Anthea was introduced and John noticed how close Sherlock stood to him. Gwedolyn truly must have been a terrifying presence in their lives. The dining room was prepared beautifully, and John smiled at the multitude of flowers and dishes on the table. Only when they were all seated he noticed that all seats were occupied. Mycroft and Sherlock were both quite reserved, avoiding to look at one another and visibly nervous about the whole affair.

John cleared his throat. “So, I was told I would meet an aunt of Sherlock’s tonight?” he asked, anticipating an evening spent laughing with Anthea about the discomfort of Mycroft and Sherlock. He ignored the deadly look the two brothers directed at him just then.

“Oh, Gwendolyn, yes,” Mrs Holmes smiled warmly at John. “She sends her regards, but had to cancel her visit as she is stuck in South America. Well, I say stuck. She is on honeymoon and won’t be back to England for a while.”

He could feel Sherlock’s jaw on the floor next to him but he ignored the overpowering urge to laugh out loud and nodded in sympathy. “That’s a rather lovely excuse,” he managed, smiling at the happy lady at the end of the table.

Sherlock’s hand found his thigh and it remained there during dinner. Mycroft looked more relieved than John had ever seen him and a smile sent his way seemed as genuine as it would ever get. When they moved things to the living room, Mycroft expressed his relief in handing Anthea quite a full glass of 26 year old single malt, John found himself in the kitchen, thanking Mrs Holmes for a wonderful dinner.

“Oh, I’m so glad you came,” she smiled. “The boys are always so uncomfortable when they only have us and each other to talk to. I told Gwendolyn that I wouldn’t celebrate at home this year and hoped that you and that lovely young lady that Mycroft keeps hidden from us would come and join us. I would have asked you personally, but best let them think that it was their idea.” She winked at him as she carried the cake into the living room.

John was left with Mr Holmes who had been quietly smiling all evening. “They are terribly difficult, sometimes. But she is surprisingly good with them, even now. I’m sure one day they’ll grow up.”

John laughed and nodded. “Maybe, though I doubt they will ever manage to admit to each other that they don’t hate each other’s guts.”

“Every little helps,” his future father in law grinned. “And you’ve been doing them both a world of good.”

“I actually mostly came to watch Gwendolyn try to flirt with Sherlock,” John admitted and grabbed the cake plates. “I guess I’ll have to come back for next year’s celebration.”


End file.
